“She hit me. Told me to never sneak up on her like that again. I would have been mad since she wasn't supposed to be climbing our bookshelf in the first place,” he says, giving Charlie a goofy look because she still sits on top of tables and shelves and counters. She says it’s because she’s so short, but the real reason is probably because at home she was used to hiding, and it’s just become an old habit.
“But I couldn’t be mad once I saw the t-shirt. Vintage, ripped, and holey but beautiful Beatles 1966 t-shirt,” Marcus says, looking off into a daze, remembering the t-shirt that brought us together and sealed our friendship. “My mouth just dropped, and I was speechless. I stared at your chest like a horny teenage boy.”
I laugh, thinking back to when I first met Charlie and thought she had to be the coolest chick in the world. Her style was effortless and vintage. Mostly grunge but her crazy blond hair and freckles gave her that princess look no matter what she wore. Which she fucking hates.
“Yeah, you two weirdos freaked me out at first, but then you made me feel so cool I had to invite myself into your lives forever.” She shrugs, looking smug.
“Well, damn. I’m glad I own this place, or I would be fired. I better get back to work. I’ll see you at home, Lyla. Charlie, I’ll go get you that email I promised. I really want that band, so let’s do whatever we need to get the ball rolling.”
He kisses us both on the cheek and exits with all the trash from lunch. I’m so drained emotionally and stuffed full of tacos I’m almost falling asleep so Charlie orders me an Uber and I head home for a long bath.
6
Cole
Looking at the clock on the wall, I see it’s after one in the morning. I can’t sleep. It’s been hours since I’ve seen Lyla, and I haven’t stopped thinking about her. Which is fucking insane to me. She came home from the studio shortly after I got home. I expected to joke around, to make sure things weren’t awkward between us since we officially took sex off the table, but she was really quiet. I asked if she was hungry, but she said no. She joined me on the couch, and we sat there, not talking for hours. It was actually nice.
Still, I’ve had less than a handful of conversations with her and already I know she’s nothing like any other woman I’ve ever met. Sure as shit the polar opposite of my ex, which only makes me want to get to know her better. I don’t even care if it’s at my own expense. She can bust my balls all day long if it means I get to hear that sexy sweet voice of hers.
The way she called me out for telling her when I’d be home only intensified my curiosity. Lyla doesn’t seem to give much of a fuck about petty shit like my overbearing ex-wife did; she’s real, down-to-earth, easy to talk to, and the only thing my cock will let me think about. Fuck.
Running my palms down my face, I continue to stare up at the ceiling until I hear someone moving around the house. It sounds like whispering. Maybe Marcus is sneaking out a lady friend. I don’t want to open the door to that. The sound doesn’t stop or get louder, so I chance a peek and crack my door. It’s coming from the kitchen and sounds more like Lyla then Marcus which makes me smile even though I really wish it didn’t.
Shaking my head, not thinking about it twice, I quietly trek downstairs. I find her pulling out every content of the refrigerator and pantry. My eyebrows shoot to the ceiling. “And what are we creating in here?” I say, scaring her.
She jumps five feet and spins around. Her hair’s not straight like before; it’s in small tight curls, her eyebrows are up, and her pointer finger is in her mouth, sucking some food off it. My cock twitching instantly in my sweatpants, all I want to do is pop her finger out of her mouth and put it in mine. I am in so much trouble.
“Hey,” she says with a shy smile. “I hope I didn’t wake you up.”
“You didn’t.”
“Cool.” She nods.
“So, what are you making?”
“I have no fucking clue, and I’m really not sure why I bothered at this point.” She exhales a heavy sigh, and I see a sad look in her eyes that I instantly have the need to change.
“Yeah not a lot to work with I see.” I take in all the different food options and notice the round glass storage dish with the blue lid my little sister brought over the other night.
“Well, you could make anything with this and have a good night.” I hand her the dish, and her eyes narrow skeptically.
“What is it?”
“Weed butter courtesy of Willow, my younger sister.”
She instantly lights up, and I hand it to her with a smile. She looks around the island and all its contents and grabs the honey, the sugar, and a few other things I missed as she turned and dove back into the pantry. I laugh quietly at her excitement. I’ve never had the butter before, but I have been high so this should be interesting, especially with her.
“Weird question but do you guys have a casserole dish?”
“I don’t even know what that is,” I say, hoping for a laugh, a giggle, a smile, anything. I’m going to have to work harder. She’s deep in the zone, not looking at me, just moving around the kitchen in a flurry. “Can I help?”
Shoving my hands in my pockets and rocking back on my heels, I wait to be bossed around. What the fuck? Why did I offer to help? I thought I was trying to get along with this woman; now I’m just saying stupid shit I don’t even mean to.
“Want to put on something to listen to? I have an idea, and you might actually want to stay up for this.”
Her smile spells trouble, and all my thoughts are directly inappropriate.
“On second thought, that sounds way too romantic. How about a movie? Or a basketball game? I really don’t care as long as it’s not sappy bullshit. It won’t take long to whip this up, and I promise it will be delicious.”
Lyla wags her eyebrows at me with a sexy smirk, I almost forgot she’s talking about food. Clearing my throat with a sad excuse for a cough, I step over and grab the remote from the coffee table.
“Did you catch the fight tonight?”
“No, I don’t think I’ve ever watched any kind of fight ever actually. Was it good?”
“I’ll put it on now. It’s fun to watch, especially when you’re really pissed off. Just imagine you’re the one kicking someone’s ass, all while getting high on your couch.”
“Sounds like my kind of sport.” She comes around the couch and sits next to me, and the smell of vanilla engulfs me. Her black curls bounce as she tucks her legs under her.
“I like your hair like that,” I say unconsciously.
“Thanks. All natur-al,” she says, giving her locks a bounce and shaking her head from side to side. It’s so damn cute I have to look away before I touch her. I find the match stored with all the other recorded junk on the DVR. I explain the fighters and their backgrounds a bit as the announcers try to hype it up for viewers. The fighters both trash-talk in interviews, but I fast-forward until we see the MMA ring. Music blares and I casually peek over at Lyla. She’s still not smiling, but I see a glimmer in her eye that tells me she’s interested. The fight starts and the fighters full-on attack each other. The man set to win the match is the first one to the ground but recovers quickly and knees the other guy in ribs then comes up with a hook right to the other’s face. The camera is angled perfect, and we see blood splatter across the white floor of the ring.
“Daaaaamn,” Lyla coos from beside me, clearly entertained.
The match goes on and it’s brutal. At one-point Lyla stands and cheers on the bloodbath. Rooting for the underdog, Caleb Holland, she screams for blood and murder, and I think I should be scared but can’t help laughing my ass off. He still loses the first match but ends up the overall winner in the end. She dances around and I can’t help but join her. I have never enjoyed a match so much.
“You got some sweet moves there, Cole,” she jokes with a flirty smile.
“Thanks,” I say, still laughing and dancing with her. “My fist pumping skills have never let me down.”
She laughs
all the way to the kitchen. “Well, a million years later, it’s done.”
The smell of pie fills the living room, and I walk over to join her. Hopping on the leather bar stool, I get a good look at what she made. “Is this a casserole?”
Rolling her eyes, she says, “Kind of. Just try it. It should be cooled off by now too; I took it out fifteen minutes ago. Did I spot vanilla ice cream in the freezer?”
“You did, and I like the way you think. I’ll grab the plates.”
She plates it all in some fancy way. Even adding some sort of sauce she made.
“This looks and smells amazing, Lyla. Thank you.”
“You bet. I told you I came with benefits.” She winks, and I wonder if she’s fucking with me.
I wish I could repay her for the kindness. Show her all the benefits I come with. Spread her sexy tan legs out and taste her. I bet she tastes sweet like honey.
Stop it. I shake my head, trying to clear the image but it’s too late. When I look up, she’s staring at me with the side of her lower lip between her teeth. Our eyes are locked on each other; I clench my jaw and adjust my cock, not bothering to hide her effect on me. Her face breaks into a full smile, and she looks down my body. I feel it like a trail of fire warming me from the inside.
“What the hell are you two doing in here this early in the morning?” Marcus grumbles, rubbing his eyes.
“Just feeding your boy here. He showed me the fine art of MMA fighting. I’m totally hooked now, by the way.” She smiles over at me.
I’m in the same room as her lifelong best friend, and I got that smile directed at me. Why that’s a big deal I don’t know. I’ve never felt like this before. I shouldn’t feel like this and really don’t even want to, but it’s Lyla, not some clingy one-night stand—not Whitney, this is Lyla. The definition of different. As though he can read my thoughts, Marcus clears his throat, directly looking at me. Did he ask me something?
“What’s up?”
“Nothing. Whatever you two are doing, stop and go to bed.” He points between her body and mine. “I was at the studio until one and I’m fucking beat.” He turns and walks back to the hall and up the stairs to his room, assuming I got the message.
“More for us,” Lyla whispers and hands me the decorated dish.
“Wow, this looks too good to eat. You really are some fancy chef, aren’t you?” I say, instantly regretting my choice of words. I wince and look over at her. She doesn’t say anything, just moves the fork around the plate. Fuck, I’m such an idiot. Why did I say that? What do I say now?
“Do you like it?” She answers with a counter question.
Stuffing my mouth with the sugary goodness, I just nod and shovel in more. She seems to relax and takes a small bite from her fork and moans. Her eyes fly open, and her head starts to bob up and down in rhythm with mine. We stare at each other, content with our mouths full and in complete agreement that her desert is amazing.
“If nothing else, it’s good to know I can still make edible food.”
“Delicious weed edibles to be exact,” I joke, trying to steer us away from what I know she won’t want to talk about.
“I guess you’re right,” she says, covering her mouth with a bite still inside and giggling even though I can tell she’s trying not to.
When our plates are empty, I pick them both up and round the island to stick them in the dishwasher and look on the shelf at our drink choices.
“Want some whiskey?”
“Honey and whiskey?” She smiles like it’s the best idea ever. “Hell yeah.”
I pour it and hand her a tumbler, then sit down next to her with one of my own. “Do you feel anything from the butter yet?” she asks after a few sips.
“No.”
“Oh well, it was still fun.” She shrugs a shoulder. “Thanks for tonight, Cole. I think I really needed it.”
“Anytime.”
“I better head to bed. Lucky for me I have no responsibilities tomorrow, so if I don’t come out in the next couple of days, just know I’m in a better place.” The laugh that follows her to the bottom of the stairs is soft and sad.
“Hey, wait a second. Would you want to go to a fight sometime? I think Caleb has one in San Diego soon. It’s live, you might even get blood on you,” I say, rushing to catch up with her on the staircase.
“Wow, really? Yeah, absolutely!” That got a smile out of her, and I might actually be able to sleep now.
“Cool. Good night.”
“Cool. Night, Cole.”
Inside my room I shed my t-shirt. My body is too hot, but I know it’s from her, not from the temperature of the room. Falling onto my mattress, I hope for sleep to finally take me. I have no idea what time it is, but every minute hanging out with her was worth it. I roll over on my side and think I start to feel a little of her dessert’s effects. The blankets feel extra soft. My mouth feels extra dry. An image of her face comes to my mind. Her bouncy curls, the blueberry sauce on her lower lip I so badly wanted to lick off, the curve of her hips and generous tits that beg to be in my mouth.
My hand starts moving down my chest and lower, at the images running through my mind.
7
Cole
Best. Night. Ever. My eyes open and I instantly remember last night with a dumb-ass smile on my face. I can’t help it. It’s not like it was the best lay I ever had. I didn’t get laid, and my morning wood is a stark reminder. No, it’s because of her.
The adorable curly hair that bounced when she laughed. The way she lit up and started cheering at the fight, the fight I showed her. Nah, this morning, my raging hard on is all thanks to my overactive imagination that went crazy last night with all the possibilities that could have happened last night.
After an extra cold shower, I pad down the hallway with an extra kick in my step. Downstairs, I notice her right away sitting at the island. I say a small prayer shit isn’t awkward and turn the corner just in time to notice Marcus.
“Sup, man?”
“Morning,” I reply, suddenly regretting my choice to not wear a t-shirt.
“Good Morning, Cole.” Lyla’s sultry voice hits my ears and travels straight to my cock. Fucking woman is going to kill me. I had to stroke it twice before I could fall asleep last night.
“Mornin’,” I say back, raising my chin but not looking at her, knowing Marcus would know something’s up by the guilt written all over my face. I respect Marcus. Love him like a brother even though we’ve only known each other the year we’ve lived together. I want to listen when he threatens my life to stay away from her. I do. Or I did. I think I need to be psychiatrically evaluated. Something is definitely wrong with me because all I can think about is touching her.
“I was just telling Lyla we’re all having dinner at Hamilton’s steak house tonight; be there around six,” Marcus says, mentally pouring a bucket of cold water over me. Family dinner night. My best friend, his daughter Harmony who is the worlds best little girl and means the world to me and the reason our group of friends all get together once a week. You know how they say it takes a village to raise a child? We are her village and I need to remember to keep it in my pants, so I don’t cause any drama.
“Oh yeah, it’s Friday. Family dinner night. Also, Harmony weekend, right?” I reply
“Yep. I got Charlie and Mason covering the studio through Tuesday, and I’m going to take the world’s greatest daughter to Disneyland. We’ll be back Monday night, but I’ll have to take Harmony straight back to her mom. Sorry, Lyla, but we planned this trip a year ago.”
“No worries. I’ll get to see her for dinner, right? Does Grace stay and eat?” Lyla says and pouts her lips to blow the steam rising from her coffee. So fucking hot. Does she even know she’s doing it? Casually, I bend over the island all my attention on Marcus and never look at her again.
“Yep. They’ll both be there. Cole calls it family dinner night because it’s always all of us. As busy as we all are, we always have dinner together at least once a
week. Usually we plan on Friday and adjust it when needed.”
“Who is all? Who all comes to dinner?”
“This lumberjack here,” he says, slapping me on the back. “His sister Willow, Harmony and Grace of course, Charlie, Mason who works for the studio, and me.”
“Cool. I’m really excited.” She says it with a smile that looks fake, then looks down into her mug.
She’s wearing a white robe with her crazy curls on top of her head in a messy bun, no makeup on her face, and her long legs propped up on the stool beside me. She is so beautiful. I can smell her perfume—a vanilla mixed with brown sugar maybe. My eyes pinch closed and I grit my teeth and slowly exhale. This is fucking torture. I need to leave; hell, I need to run as fast as I can in the opposite direction of this woman. Instead of being smart, I ask, “Hey, what’s with the face?”
“What face? This natural beauty?” She teases, tapping her nose, which is fucking adorable.
Shaking my head, I tell her, “No, why’d you get all sad when you said you’re excited about dinner?”
“I’m not sad. I said I was excited.” She starts wiggling in her seat, uncomfortable with this subject, so naturally I must push.
“You said excited; your face said misery. Why?”
She looks at Marcus who’s filling up his travel mug to my left and back to me again. “I just realized how much I’ve been missing out on, being in Chicago. Where there were never any awesome family dinners.” She shrugs with a shy smile ghosting her face.
“Well, that all changes now, babe.” Marcus says, walking around me and wrapping his arms around her neck. “I’ll see you guys tonight. Six p.m. at Hamilton’s. Don’t be late.”
When he’s out the door, she turns to me. “Thanks for calling me out, fucker.”
My eyes snap to hers, and I’m thankful she’s smiling. “No problem. I knew you had feelings in there somewhere,” I joke, finally standing up now that Marcus is gone.
Whiskey and Honey: Can a forbidden fling be real love? (The Empire Records Series Book 1) Page 4
